


Fleurs Captives

by saidno1ever



Series: You're Sick, I Hate You and Love You For It [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Humantale, Gen, Mental Instability, Minor Violence, Unreliable Narrator, spaghetti abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saidno1ever/pseuds/saidno1ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doors are all closed, we peer through key holes, tucked away in a place where flowers can't grow</p><p>(Papyrus pulls a "don't be upsetti, eat some spaghetti".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleurs Captives

It's the sound of raised voices that stands between you and a comfortable sleep. They're not shrieking, not even yelling, just raised to a point of unpleasantness. The walls of the house are thin, worn and ready to give in at any moment, but figuring out the point of the argument is still nearly impossible. 

Your bedroom door lurches open slamming into the doorstop hard enough to crack it, then catches your brother's arm on the back swing. You manage to suppress a flinch and tack your eyes to his trembling form. 

He stands in the doorway for a minute, a silhouette latched onto the door. You slide the blanket off your legs, and cross over to him with five long strides. 

"I left some spaghetti for you." You tell him cheerfully. 

Another minute ticks by and his grip on the door doesn't loosen. You see the outline of his jaw shifting before quiet, perfectly monotone words escape his vocal cords. 

"Could you bring it in here?" 

You frown, "Usually I wouldn't allow you to make such a mess in our room, but I will let it slide this one time." 

"You're the best." 

You skip past him, careful of the loose floorboards, barely noticeable in the dim house. The only light that shines is the flickering streetlight just outside one of the front windows. The moths cast eerie shadows on the fridge as you struggle to pull it open.  
The spaghetti is very cold, having been sat there since you ate dinner. You stare at it, humming absently before also grabbing a bottle of ketchup. You squeeze a generous amount onto the frozen noodles, ignoring the immature sounds of an almost empty bottle. Sans usually got a kick out of it. 

You return the ketchup to its place, close the refrigerator, grab a fork from the table and head back to the room. 

Sans has moved to the opposite wall, slowly and repeatedly thumping his head against it. You have the decency to close the door, but decide to leave the lights off. 

"I brought dinner!" You sing, carefully dropping down onto the mattress. 

Sans turns quickly, watching you for a moment before plopping down beside you. The fork and one noodle clatter to the ground, but Sans swipes both up quietly before taking the plate from you. 

"There was a flower parade down the street earlier," You say, "It was very splendid. They let me join in this time and cheered and even the brown dog was there!" 

You rest your chin on your knuckles, "What else did I do today?... Oh yeah! I watched that girl pop a bike tire with her teeth!" 

Quickly you add, "But I know you said not to talk to her so I didn't! I watched her from a bush! She's really amazing!... I was going to visit my other friend too, but I didn't want to go too far." 

You try to think of something else, anything else, but the only other thing you did was make spaghetti and watch TV. 

The moment your lips part again to make a sound is the moment your brother's arm spasms out, slinging the plate of spaghetti clear across the room. It cracks into huge slices of ceramic and crackles apart like egg shells. The ketchup leaves thin splatters on the wall and floor. 

Your brother lunges to his feet and stumbles to the wall with enough momentum to drive the fork nearly all the way into the wood. He doesn't try to pull it back out, instead he draws his foot back and kicks the splinters of the plate, blood spraying into a dark mixture with the ketchup. 

You watch his shadow move as you stand. Before you know it, you're directly behind him yanking him backwards by his shoulders. 

Sans doesn't scream. He's breathing harshly through clenched teeth as he stumbles into you. You attempt to catch him, but you trip and yelp as you both are knocked to the floor. 

"Ow," You mumble, shifting so you can look your brother in the eyes, "Sans... if you didn't want spaghetti, you could've said so." 

It takes a moment for your own eyes to readjust, but eventually they catch the white gleam of his eyes and teeth. You watch as he trembles in your lap, giggling hysterically.


End file.
